His Parents Before Him
by MarauderLife
Summary: A story of Lily and James. It is not an easy story, and at times it will be fairly dark. But it will have humor and it will have love. Their lives and their legacy were nothing if not about love. Rating is T for now, but that is subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello, lovely readers. I present to you the first chapter of a new book. I couldn't bring myself to continue "A New Year's Resolution in August." I wanted a change from writing cheerful stories. So here's the outcome of that desire. That's not to say that I won't continue "A New Year's Resolution," but for now at least, this is my project. Hope you like it! As always, anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling.

One arm rested lightly at her side while the other arched gracefully overhead. The lion shaped lamp in the corner of the room threw oddly patterned shadows across her smooth, creamy skin. A flicker of movement, as her slender throat shifted with a swallow. Fingers tensed infinitesimally around the willow wand caressed in her raised, right hand.

A crib stood behind her slender, poised body. The one year old occupant turned in his sleep, his long black lashes curling under equally black, messy hair. It was for him, the woman's flawless Ministry-approved dueling position. It was for him, the sheen of salty water forming over her startlingly bright emerald eyes. And it was for him, the angry shake of her burnished, fiery hair, banishing the tears to another time, another place.

Her lips curled into a familiar, famous smirk. It was unashamedly adopted from her husband. The thought of him shot a bullet through her heart as his shout and the thud of his toned body hitting the floor echoed through her head. The smirk faltered, before she pulled it back into place with iron will. James may have fallen before Voldemort a mere minute ago, but he'd fallen fighting. And Lily would be damned if she reunited with him beyond death without having fought as hard and as bravely as he had. Her smirk softened into a smile that effortlessly brought light into the dark room, as she imagined the argument she'd soon be having with her husband over who had fought better.

Finally, a sound broke the silence: the squeak of the nursery door. Her smile turned into a breathy laugh. She imagined the look on Sirius' face if he knew that Lord Voldemort's arrival had been announced by the stubborn door hinges that he and Remus had tried so desperately to quiet with charms. They always felt guilty that the sound woke up Harry when they checked on him during naps. The door performed its job unfailingly. A sleepy gurgle of "Mama" made Lily's heart stutter. But her resolve only strengthened. The hand at her side swung back to rest over the tiny fingers she knew were clutching the rails of the crib. "Be safe, Harry. Be strong," she whispered. "Mama and Dada love you so much." Her voice caught in her throat, husky with emotion.

Then from the darkness of the hallway, they appeared—those merciless red eyes that struck a chord of fear so deep into every witch and wizard that there remained only a handful who dared to speak the owner's name. Lily Evans, however, counted herself proud to be among those few. Her face morphed into a feral growl, teeth shining in the dim light as her lips stretched back in a snarl. A Gryffindor to the bone, her lioness instinct took over as she prepared to fight to the death to preserve the life of her son.

Lord Voldemort took in the scene before him with a glance that was almost cursory, before slicing his wand impossibly fast. But the silent _Crucio_ had no effect, as an equally fast shield was thrown up by his opponent. He frowned.

"Stand aside." His high, cruel voice cut through the air like a knife, and the baby whimpered. Lily's head rose a single centimeter, in defiance.

"No." Her bright eyes flashed with revulsion and hatred towards the Dark creature standing in front of her.

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…," he ordered again. Lily was unmoved, her face stone. She had never been one to take orders from a person for whom she held no respect. Her green eyes burned holes into the red ones across the room. Another whimper emerged from the crib. The sound of life seemed to enrage Voldemort. His face twisted into an inhuman expression of anger, his eyes shrinking to slits in fury. His next wrist flick was too fast for Lily to respond to in kind, but she was prepared.

She abandoned her dueling pose, throwing her slim arms wide in front of her son. Her glorious red mane flew out into a halo, and in a twist of irony, the deadly green light speeding towards her became a thing of beauty as it shone against her hair. The killing curse struck Lily Potter directly in the heart. She slipped silently to the ground with a smile touching her lips. She had succeeded.

As his mother's eyes closed, Harry Potter's eyes opened. Lily's brilliant emerald stare was reincarnated as Harry looked up at Voldemort with the same fierce determination as his parents before him.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hello again. I can't believe I'm posting this chapter just hours after the first. But I think I really like this story. Note: In my story, Sirius and Remus _did not_ die. *dances* All stuff you recognize belongs to Jo, etc. etc.

_ The day before his first Halloween, one year old Harry thought that life could not possibly get any better. His Mama, his Dada, his Uncle Pafoot, and his Uncle Mooey were all helping making his Halloween costume. He was going to be a dragon, and fly around with Dada on his broom._

_ "Dada, will we go high?" Harry chirped at his father, large green eyes eager with anticipation. His grasp of language was extraordinary for a one year old. James Potter, sitting on the floor of his living room at Godric's Hollow, grinned ruefully at his son. His hazel eyes brightened, as they did every time he looked at Harry. White teeth shone in love and amusement at Harry's passion for flying, equal to that of his father's._

_ "You know your mother hates when we fly too high." Harry's face fell into a heartbreaking pout. But James leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "So maybe we can leave her with Aunt Hestia. Then she'll be too distracted to notice." Instead of lighting up, as James had expected Harry's eyes to do, they widened in a mixture of fear and laughter. James froze, guessing the reason. _

_ "She's right above me, isn't she?" Now grinning, Harry nodded furiously in reply. "Remus, Sirius, why didn't you warn me?" James asked indignantly. He nervously ruffled his mess of black hair, hair that was perfectly replicated on his son's head. The pale werewolf on the couch shook with silent laughter, where he and Sirius were struggling with the creation of Harry's dragon mask._

_ "Because it's always fun to see Lily yelling at someone else. She's quite scary, you know." Sirius nodded sagely at his own words, before flattening himself against the couch in response to the willow wand trained on his forehead. His beautiful face contorted in comical fear, violet eyes wide and nervous. _

_ In the next second, hazel eyes widened fearfully, as the wand was aimed at James' crotch. Sirius, in turn, relaxed and chuckled. "James Charlus Potter." James groaned theatrically at the sharply admonishing voice. He fell back against the ground, throwing one tanned and toned arm across his face._

_ "Lilyyyyy!" he whined. "You're no fun!" Harry gurgled a laugh at his father's dramatics. The sound instantly brought soft smiles to his family's lips._

Twenty-three year old Harry Potter woke up in the bedroom of that same house in Godric's Hollow. He smiled as a single, sparkling tear slipped down his cheek. Hermione had found a spell in some dusty book in the Hogwarts library that allowed him to access memories that had occurred too long ago be recalled on his own. He sighed softly, the beloved faces of his family forming in his mind. Of course, Sirius and Remus were alive, and Harry's heart expanded in gratefulness at the thought. But the ability to see his parents in dreams was bittersweet, as it always left him yearning hungrily for more.

Harry pushed aside the thought impatiently. He should be grateful for the memories he had. Rolling onto his left side, Harry leaned over and pressed a light kiss onto his wife's smooth, freckled forehead. She shifted in her sleep. Her crimson hair shone in the dim light, shockingly similar to that of the woman who lived in this house before her.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his arms up with a quiet groan. The movement exposed a band of hard, tan stomach, before he lowered his arms and shook the sleep out of his bright eyes. He stood and walked silently into the hallway. A quick glimpse into the nursery, where a lion shaped lamp in the corner threw oddly patterned shadows across the walls, assured him that his son was sleeping soundly.

Harry walked down the stairs, expertly avoiding the creaky steps to keep his family from waking up at the ungodly hour of 6am. Being an auror was rewarding, but not without its challenges. Harry snorted quietly. Waking up early certainly wasn't the most challenging part of the dangerous career. But he would not trade the job for the world.

He meant to turn right into the kitchen for a strong cup of coffee, but a glimmer caught his eye. The outline of a door, in silver. Harry arched an eyebrow quizzically. He had never seen that door before, sitting next to the coat room in the hallway to the front door. He walked toward it, wand out. It was unlikely to contain anything dangerous, given the safety spells on the house, but it never hurt to be cautious. The door looked as though it opened onto a small cupboard. Harry's brow creased momentarily, remembering his former bedroom at the Dursley's.

The glimmer strengthened into a glow as Harry approached, until it shined so brightly that Harry squinted to keep the glare out of his eyes. He reached his left hand out to touch the knob. When flesh met metal, the glow disappeared. Harry blinked several times, adjusting to the new light, before pulling the door open.

It was indeed a small closet, with just enough room for a person to stand comfortably. But it was not empty. In the center of the space, a shallow bowl levitated at Harry's chest height. It emitted a soft glow. Harry thought that perhaps it was this glow, shining through the doorframe, which had drawn him a moment ago.

He recognized the bowl. It was a pensieve, already swirling with memories. Harry stepped closer. A _lot_ of memories, it appeared, as the silver threads in the bowl were surprisingly dense. The emerald eyes, reflecting the silver below them, shined with hope. Harry leaned forward. Whose memories were these? Could they possibly be…?

His thoughts were torn away abruptly as he spun, twisted, and fell through thick, silver liquid, until his feet slammed firmly against the richly carpeted floor of a foreign room.


End file.
